The Bleeding-heart: a poem by Mary Oliver
I know a bleeding-heart plant that has thrived for sixty years if not more, and has never missed a spring without rising and spreading itself into a grassy bush, with many small red hearts dangling. Don't you think that deserves a little thought? The woman who planted it has been gone for a long time, and everyone who saw it in that time has also died or moved away and so, like so many stories, this one can't get finished properly. Most things that are important, have you noticed, lack a certain neatness. More delicious, anyway is to remember my grandmother's pleasure when the dissolve of winter was over and the green knobs appeared and began to rise, and to cre- ate their many hearts. One would say she was a simple woman, made happy by simple things. I think this was true. And more than once, in my long life, I have wished to be her.
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So, I get real excited watching reality TV dance. Just makes me wanna...
Our Diocesan Convention, held every Nov. has a rock and roll band play on Friday night (it's a two day convention held in a hotel, Fri - Sat)...so there we are Bishop, priests, deacons, and our lay parishioners, all dancing...
and. The lead singer of the band that usually plays, has now submitted his name for Bishop of our Diocese...
that could be very interesting
or, maybe just weird...
anyway, I love to dance. Can barely sit still when good music starts playing.
What about you? hate it? love it? indifferent?
now we'll watch this I guess.
...a dance major huh?